


Confessions

by Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise



Series: Marlowe Fics [8]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Philosophy, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9892295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise/pseuds/Burdenedwithgloriousporpoise
Summary: Dire circumstances create perspective. Questions normally hidden in uneasy periphery are forced to the forefront of contemplation, and tongues are loosened to speak their minds.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ...I know I keep doing niche personal philosophy ones but...I enjoy it so, do what you love because you love it, right? XD

The man sat stoic in his arm chair, face hard. It had been nonchalant and condescending only a few minutes ago--then Marlowe had brought against him the evidence they'd discovered on their whirlwind investigation. Marlowe's default state seemed to be aggravation, constantly snapping at someone for slacking off or a sub-par job or corruption in general. She realized now she'd never seen him actually angry. This was something entirely different, and she was extremely glad she was not the one attempting to keep a bland expression in the leather chair opposite.

This case had been a rough one. Marlowe was the one who had brought suspicions he had to their superiors from word he'd gathered on the street while patrolling. Everyone had attempted to shush him over the extra work he was about to unleash--but he was certain something was off, and even though it couldn't yet be proved that laws were being broken, investigation was "the right thing to do". How she hated him sometimes.

Even against his not-shutting up about it the higher-ups refused to move, so he turned in vacation time, bolstered it with sick days and decided to investigate on his own. Despite herself...Hitch was a little worried. His integrity made him the people's hero, but his lack of tact (and the resulting extra menial work he suddenly found himself doing) was becoming legendary. If some injustice or another ticked him off while undercover, he'd automatically unleash the full weight of humanitarian anti-corruption and find that being indefinitely on latrine duty wasn't the end-all punishment mankind was capable of inflicting.

She'd already used most of her vacation days, but with the right bribes and sweet talk she'd managed to get a stretch of time that matched his. His face when she'd run up behind him in civilian clothes had been fantastic. He'd hemmed and hawed of course, but she'd stuck to him as doggedly as he'd stuck to this case. From there, their course had taken him through a fascinating grapevine. So-and-so had connected to such-and-such, who was related through suspect A to suspect B, whose activities within a certain time parameter matched correspondence from that slot between A and C...

It had been fascinating to watch it come together, horrifying to see the trafficking ring that was unearthed. Now they confronted the lynchpin himself, and days' worth of pent up anger was being unleashed. How anyone could decipher the steady stream of multi-syllable labels, condemnations, and exhortations back to the straight-and-narrow was beyond her...it was like its own language, and he was fluent. She caught phrases like 'exploitation of the defenseless' and 'actions rendering you unworthy of humanity' and 'wretched thing, using the intelligence of a man to commit cruelty beasts would be _ashamed_ of could they think!'. It was impressive.

But even more odd, he really seemed torn up over it. It was more than just frustrated and upset over the way the victims had been treated. He seemed as angry as if each crime against those victims had been done personally to him. It was an odd thing, for sure. He was an odd guy. But boy, could he let someone have it.

"I will press every charge against you that I possibly can. I will prosecute you as hard as I can for as long as it takes. You said justice didn't exist anymore--you're wrong. Our people may be lazy and our methods are slow, but I will work with all the strength I have until you stand condemned." His eyes flashed.

"Heh." The man swallowed, a false smile on his face. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. It trembled between his fingers and his nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled. He blew a slight puff of smoke. "So, you're saying I'm already going to receive the full punishment you can give."

Warning flags. She took a breath, but...

"Yes."

The man's fake smile took on a tinge of bitter reality. "Then I'll see you in hell, MP bastard." He pulled a gun from his waistcoat and the shot rattled the windows. Hitch was across the room, pulling the gun away, using a combination of raw adrenaline and what combat skills she had picked up from bootcamp to disarm and subdue him before the smoke had stopped curling from the barrel.

Her heart hammered, hands shaking so hard she could barely attach the handcuffs. The second they were in place she whipped the handle of the gun against the back of his head with a crack. "Stay down!" she half-sobbed. She vaulted back over the desk.

Marlowe lay on his back, blood spreading over the lower left side of his chest. She dropped to her knees, hands trembling in the air before her chest. _Remember, remember, remember your training._

She swallowed. "I'm gonna get help. I'm gonna get help." She grabbed his hand and put it over the wound. "You have to put pressure on it." She pressed down and he groaned. "Do pressure and stop the bleeding. I'm--I'm going to get help." She ran from the room, past subdued guards, out into the street and nearly flew towards the nearest MP station. How long? How long? She hadn't checked for an exit wound. Best case the bullet was preventing any internal bleeding. She hadn't known she could run this fast. It was night. If it was her stationed here, she'd be dozing. She only slowed a fraction before running straight into the door and hammering it with her fist. "Help!"

There was a confused clatter from inside and then the door opened, two disheveled MPs with eyes the size of saucers staring back. "Officer down," she gasped. "There's an officer down two blocks that way in the old warehouse district." Still gasping she lifted her boot, pried the sole a little ways off and fished until she pulled out her MP identification. "Private Hitch Dreyse," she gasped. "I need 3DMG. You get a medic."

There was a general nod and mad scramble. The 3DMG was in the back, in a locked chest in a safe. Their fumbling fingers were slow on the combinations and each lost second ached. She bit her tongue to keep from shouting to hurry--that would only confuse them more. At last it was down and opened and it was her turn to bring shaking hands to bear on difficult equipment. Finally it was all attached. "Permission slip," she gasped.

One paused in their armoring up to run to their cabinets, open a drawer and take a piece of paper, scrawling a signature. Hitch nodded and bolted through the door. The 3DMG brought her back in half the time it had taken her to get there and she forewent the door altogether, flying through the window in a tinkling cascade of glass and landing at his side. "I got 'em, they're coming..."

***

Dark room. Dark windows; closed. Nighttime? Heavy blinds. Scratchy sheets. Smelled weird. Light from under a door on the far side of the room. Vague memories filtered back...mainly sounds, sensations, a few clear snippets of random images--his hand as he was being lifted onto a gurney, various faces, bandages and hurried chatter, faces staring down and then awakening again...again he drifted to sleep.

***

Some time had passed. Hard to tell how long. Everything hurt; made the beatdown at the dock that time ago seem like a playground skirmish. Cold, too. Damp skin. Hard to breathe. A creeping sense of dread perched on the edges of his consciousness. He closed his eyes. Some had survived much worse than this. Others had died from less. He opened them again, looked at the ceiling.

Nobody thought they would die. Dying was for other people. Everyone was the hero of their own story. Perhaps in some good stories the heroes died, but they did so willingly for a greater cause. That was what made them heroes. If the hero died before they accomplished anything...it wasn't much of a story, was it? They weren't much of a hero, were they?

Of course he could tell himself he wasn't going to die. There was still so much to do. He hadn't even scratched the surface of the reforms he needed to initiate. He'd barely done anything.

Yet coldness spread through his chest. Could he really assume survival? The cleanup in Trost--the Shiganshina massacre--the suicide mission to reclaim wall Maria. All those people, dead. As they as they watched the monster approach that would devour them...stared down the boulders that would end their lives...what did they think? Each one of them. 'No, I can't die. Ludicrous. I trained for this. I had a plan for my life. There's still so much to do...'

But rocks didn't listen, didn't care about these silly creatures and their grandiose delusions, about all the things they had left to do.

Neither did bullets.

But still the thought lingered, mocking...the hope that he was 'special'. That of course he'd survive, against all odds! His mission was too great to fall by the wayside. After all, he'd been chosen to see it through. He closed his eyes and the coldness spread. The gore they'd scraped off the streets of Trost had once held similar ideas.

Now...futility. He was a faceless casualty; background texture. A hero in his own story like the innumerable dead before him.

Slowly, softly he sighed, the fractional sinking of his chest pained. It wasn't fear of death that haunted him...mostly. His beliefs provided a hope for something greater. It was disappointment. He'd tried to do everything right; he'd done much. It just hadn't been enough. He closed his eyes.

***

A small knock on the door and a pause. The nurse would've just come in--a visitor?

"Enter." Speech felt odd, his throat scratchy even from the disuse of only a few days.

Hitch entered, closed the door behind her and sat in the chair beside the bed.

"Hitch?"

"First the dock incident, now this? I don't like the trend here."

"Hm."

Her fingers curled and uncurled atop her legs. "So, how's it feel?"

"Like being shot." 

"You sound like a frog." She winced. Seconds ticked past in silence. "Was it worth it?"

He gave a slight nod. "I think so."

"What if you die?"

That cold returned, creeping further through his chest, seeping to his heart. "It...I wouldn't do things differently."

"Hm." She glanced away. "Look...you're brave. What you did at the dock, that was stupid. But...it was the right thing to do. Same with this."

Normally it would be a triumph to hear those words. But now, his doing the 'right thing'--what had it accomplished? The MP was still a hive of scum and villainy. The Trost streets were only better in the sense that they didn't hide their evil ways behind facades of law enforcement. He hadn't even made a dent--not even a scratch...

She frowned slightly. "Look, I just acknowledged you did the right thing. I didn't even make fun of you. Aren't you going to cheer up a little from that?"

"What did I accomplish?"

She shook her head. "Shouldn't you be telling me? I have no idea. I thought it was stupid, but you didn't. And I'm curious as to why that was. Don't tell me you have no idea. Don't tell me you're as idiotic as we all assumed you were. Surprise me with deep-held and well-reasoned convictions and change my mind!" Her green eyes glittered with surprising passion in the low light. Was she really angry? Why?

"Hitch...why are you here?" 

She pressed her questioning instead. "Why did you go up to those men when you knew they very well might beat you? Why do you always run your mouth even though it makes everyone else irritated and makes a crap-ton more work for you to do? Are you seriously lying here shot and you don't even know why you do it? Are you really that stupid? I'm disappointed in you!"

"Disappointed?"

"You..." Her anger was written across her face. "You made it seem like there was more. You made it seem like you were a hero. Sure, we hated it, but we were curious. I was curious. I wanted to see what made you such an idiot all the time. I thought...I thought there might be something more. I thought you were better than us... Turns out you're just delusional." She shook her head. "How dare you call us to a moral standard. There is none. You made that up, too, to fool yourself." Her voice dropped close to a growl. "You're a liar. You made it seem like you were something more when you were just like the rest of us." It climbed in volume until nearly a shout. "I guess this is what it took for you to finally see through the fairy tales. Good morning, Marlowe!" She shook her head and looked away. "I almost believed in you." She shook her head again. There was an odd layer of emotion in her voice. Not anger...sadness? Almost a vulnerability. Hitch stood and walked towards the door.

"Wait."

She stopped.

Words came with difficulty. "I...spoke in haste." Each breath was a stabbing pain. "I was discouraged."

Her shoulders rose and fell with an inhale. She almost sounded on the verge of tears. "Discouraged, huh. That's what happens when you see your fantasy for what it is."

"No."

"No?" She turned on a heel to face him, head cocked to the side and derision in her eyes.

"I need time to think," he whispered.

She gave a slight nod and a half-sigh. "Fine. Think. But I'm going to take your previous statements as your answer unless you can convince me of something else."

***

_Two days later_

 A taut knock.

"Come in."

She entered and sat in the chair again. "Your reasoning. Let's hear it."

He nodded. "I want to right the wrongs of this world, because I believe there's a good worth fighting for. How can I fight like this if there isn't, if I made it up? There'd be no point. I just...felt discouraged. Like I was going nowhere, or backsliding. You all are waiting for me to slip up. You circle like wolves. Any imperfection in my character will be seized upon to discredit me, so in all aspects of my life I need to be perfect. I can't talk to anyone about what I truly feel. I can't share my heart with anyone. My joys and my sorrows are mine alone. I act like I can't hear you and pretend I don't feel your scorn, but I can, and I can never let it show."

It was uncomfortable being so open; almost felt like whining, but it had been bottled up for so long. Now, in the intimacy of what could very well be his death bed, words tumbled over each other in a stream. "I don't see my reforms happening. I don't feel like I'm having an affect. I feel like an accessory to crime, useless, incapable. The changes I want to make--I can't make them. I feel like I've done nothing but put fuel on the fire through my many faults...like I'm the last person in the world to make this happen. Irritating. Idiotic. I can't quit, either, because that would undo and invalidate anything I might have done so far. I'm bound to this." He closed his eyes and exhaled, a slight wave of dizziness passing. He continued again slower, softer. "If I die, this will be my legacy. A strange man who did strange things for a little while." Moisture pooled beneath his eyelids. He blinked and tears slipped free. "I've failed." He shook his head fractionally. "It's not that I don't believe in my mission. I believe in it more than anything. It's that I don't believe in myself."

The chair creaked slightly as she shifted, and his heartbeat kept time in the pause. "Do you think your life's wasted if you die here and now?" she asked.

"...No."

"Why not?"

Warm memories--family, childhood, holidays, friendships. As much as it was a part of him, the MP was neither his identity or source of worth. "Because...in the life I've lived, I do think I've been able to do good, even...if not as much as I wanted to."

"Then snap out of it!"

He flinched at her sudden passion.

"You didn't reform the MP, but you left a mark. People are morons. Some don't care. But some of us are curious about you and about what you stand for, and even if you die that curiosity will remain. You know what else will be there? The shoes you left that somebody else needs to fill, who won't fill them as good as you because they don't believe in your stupid mission, and every time they shirk their work or walk by without criticizing all the slackers we'll...we'll miss you."

Was there mist in her eyes?

"You have a bigger impact than you know, stupid. Like everyone who shakes their heads as they walk by and you're still on latrine duty for the millionth time after going after your your higher-ups for corruption. The first few times they thought you'd learn. Then they thought you were just an idiot. But when it kept happening they realized you were sincere, and that's when they started getting curious. You know what else? Maybe you're not the one to make it happen. Maybe your job was just to set the wheels in motion and get your foot in the door for someone else to come after you. Maybe they'd be inspired by what little you did accomplish--by just your being there. Maybe they'll take the progress you made and run with it in ways neither of you could've done alone. You don't know what's going to happen. You don't know the whole picture. But from what you've done so far...I think your impact will be far-reaching, even if you aren't there to see it. Even if it happens very slowly. Even if it takes successive generations of folks to make it happen." Her gaze was surprisingly intent.

Heat pulsed softly to his cheeks. Seconds ticked past. "Thank you," he said finally.

"Hmph. To think you needed a brat like me to pull you out of this."

He smiled slightly, then more. "You didn't have to tell me all that."

She wrinkled her nose and even in the darkness of the room color tinted her cheeks. "Well, now you owe me something and you'll have to repay it later. I expect you to take one of my shifts after you're recovered."

"And if I don't recover?"

"I'm banking that you will," she sniffed.

"You're treating me like an actual teammmate. When did that start to happen?"

"Don't drag me into this! I'll never go along with your goody-two-shoes scheme! You're an investment towards a personal benefit at best." She stuck out her tongue. "Now get rest so you can cover my shift. I'll give you the worst one I can find and party the whole time I'm off." She hurried for the door and he laughed softly. She opened it and paused, sent a tiny glance back over her shoulder. There was an odd sparkle in her eyes; she seemed almost embarrassed, a little mischievous...? The door slammed behind her.

***

_Three weeks later_

He opened the door. Hitch had one foot on a desk, the other tucked beneath her on the chair, and was biting her nails as she read a novel. Boris had his elbow propped on the table and his cheek in his hand, his other holding a pen that tapped a bored-sounding rhythm on the table. Various other members played cards, some smoking, some drinking.

"Is this what you do when I'm away?"

Hitch's head snapped up and her eyes flashed, color rushing to her face as she shot to her feet. "Marlowe!"

For a heartbeat time consisted of odd shine in her eyes, the shock mixed with an odd softness on her face, the smile that flicked across her lips and the brush of deepened color on her cheeks. Then she gave an exaggerated groan and eye roll and plopped back into her chair. "Ugh. He's back. Kiss good times goodbye."

He grinned sincerely for the first time in a long time. "You heard her. Everybody back to work!"

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted an excuse to explore Marlowe + Hitch's (but mainly Marlowe's) thought processes and personal philosophies, so I invented an injury to do so :3 In the process I found this was like my tribute letter to Marlowe. It definitely applies post 81. My brave dude knew what he was risking and why he was risking it, and I believe though he might've felt fear, his convictions were unshaken <3


End file.
